“So many,” Beckie choked out. “How is itpossible? Are any men left alive?”
“Those dead are principally theConfederates.”
“What will happen to them?” Tillie suppressedan urge to run and check for survivors.
“If the Rebs want their men back, they arewelcome to come and get them.” A deep voice lifted behind them.
George, Tillie, and Beckie turned to find aman walking toward them. He wore a Union uniform and on the back ofhis cap, a deer’s tail swung back and forth. “Corporal Wilson,149th Pennsylvania.” He approached, and snapping his right hand up,palm out, he saluted George.
“Lieutenant Kitzmiller, Company K, FirstPennsylvania Reserves.” George returned the gesture. “Allow me topresent the Misses Weikert and Pierce.”
The corporal touched his fingers to his hatbrim in greeting, and the girls each said hello.
“Oh, I’ve heard of the 149th,” Tillie said.“You boys come from up north in the mountain regions. You’re calledthe Buck-tails.”
“Yes, ma’am, we do.” His voice rumbled in arich deep baritone. “I myself am from Wilkes-Barre. Pleased to makeyour acquaintance.”
Tillie tried to catch sight of the buck tailpinned to the back of his hat. Corporal Wilson grinned, removed hiscap, and offered it to her.
“You know.” His eyes sparkled. “You can’t getinto the 149th unless you’ve plucked a tail off a buck to hang onthe back of your cap.”
“Really?” Tillie gaped.
George and Beckie laughed. Wilson laughed andwinked.
“Oh, I see.” Tillie joined in the laughter,but a twinge of embarrassment shot through her. She handed him hiscap, which he slipped back on his head.
To change the subject, she gestured to thecorpses lying below the summit of Little Roundtop. “What did youmean when you said if the Confederates want their men back theyshould come and get them?” She scowled. “Surely you don’t want theRebs to return, do you? Do you think we should leave them unburied?That wouldn’t be Christian.”
Corporal Wilson didn’t reply. He shrugged andturned to stare down the Plum Run Valley.
“We did a lot of our fighting out on therailroad cut north of town on the first day,” he told them. “Thembas—uh, those men did some of the hardest fighting I ever seen.” Hefell silent. His eyes hardened. “They sure are some d—uh—goodfighters. We beat them off. They come back so we beat them offagain, and again they come back. We began to think there was anendless supply of them boys, but we drove ’em off for good. Notbefore losing our commanding officer, Colonel Stone, and our secondin command, Lieutenant Colonel Dwight. Good men.”
Corporal Wilson’s eyes fixed on a point downthe valley, and Tillie turned. She scanned the destruction belowher. Pointing to the Valley of Death, she marveled. “Look how theyall lie in a row like corn or wheat.”
“They lay as they fell,” George said.
Tillie nodded, acknowledging the remark. Shetried to picture these men—alive, advancing side by side—cut down,side by side. Her brow creased again. The extreme bravery the menrequired to move forward, knowing they might die, and go anyway.She became aware of an almost reverential silence, broken only bytheir quiet voices, the soft breeze moving through the trees, andthe sound of her own heartbeat.
The words of James, chapter four came back toher. “Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what isyour life?”
What was her life? No answer came to her.
“Well, lieutenant”—Corporal Wilson’s deepbaritone brought Tillie out of her reverie—“I’ve tarried longenough. I must be on my way.” He saluted George and again touchedhis fingers to his hat brim. “Ladies, a pleasure.”
Tillie and Beckie murmured goodbyes as hestrode down the hill and into the Valley of Death, whistling“Dixie”.
Beckie let out her breath. “There goes astrange fellow.”
Why must Beckie always do that? Must shealways dismiss people out of hand, rather than try to figure themout? Tillie pushed the thought away. “After what he’s been throughI suspect he has the right to be whatever he wishes.”
Beckie glared at her. Tillie met her gaze,refusing to back down.
“Come.” George broke the tension. “I want toshow you where some of the bravest men I know did some of thefiercest fighting.”
Beckie broke eye contact first. She allowedGeorge to turn her around and lead them back the way they came,crossing the rocks and plunging into the woods of Little Roundtop.George followed a line of rocks and fallen timber standing like anancient stone wall in severe disrepair. Tillie tried not to glancedown the slope of the hill because she knew what would meet hereye.
As soon as the thought came to her, shelooked. Row upon row of dead men, some lay with their heads towardthe stone wall, which told her they had been shot while coming upthe hill. Others sprawled on the ground facing the opposite way,arms above their heads, one leg crooked as though shot in the actof running away.
The breeze rustled through the trees, silentsentinels of the dead. In their mottled shade, stillness prevailed,affecting the three as they sauntered about. Their normal speakingvoices lowered until they almost whispered. The reverence of theplace awed Tillie.
Below the summit of the hill lay more deadbodies clad in gray. She averted her face.
They continued to move along parallel to thehastily erected wall extending deeper into the woods. When theycame to a certain spot, George stopped and addressed to the twowomen. Though he stood surrounded by trees, the sun still shonebright on him. Tillie glanced up. The tops of the trees shattered,the branches, denuded of their summertime leaves, stretched theirarms out in dismay.
“They look like horror-struck witnesses.”Tillie twisted this way and that. “If trees could feel, these wouldbe screaming in agony.”
Beckie smiled at her, but Tillie saw her rollher eyes when she looked at George.
“This is where the 20th Maine boys held offColonel Oates’s Alabamians and helped us win the day on July thesecond. If they hadn’t been here, the Rebs would have swarmed
